I wish I’d written something and sent it to Val like she asked me to, but events have been reminding me of you too strongly for me to write anything worthwhile.
- The conversation at Au Coquelet a week ago with Art McGee and Lester Kenyatta Spence, both of whom asked after you.
- Your birthday last week.
- The time with K., whose all-too-brief time with A. and I reminded me of your sisters and the pride with which you spoke about them to me.
- Your memorial service yesterday, which I didn’t attend (altogether now … because I suck!).
- Today’s King-birthday holiday, which I will spend working because I am twisted in such a way that, on this particular day, it feels good to get dressed and go to work and get through the day by the skin of my teeth like always. I like reflecting on the legacy, like I’m supposed to, but I like living the legacy better. I’m kind of ambivalent about holidays in general. No matter what day it is, the paper still has to get out the door, you know? It’s my concern, as long as their money folds. I do get President’s Day off, and maybe this year I’ll take the day and go read about a real Log Cabin Republican.
- Thursday’s inauguration, a lousy kickoff for the start of one of those nine-day-straight workweeks I so adore.
- Those vile, loathsome wastes of space Star and Buc Wild, who I am absolutely certain would have spurred you to reconfigure your computer for the express purpose of cussing such a foot-high blowtorch blue-streak around the wrongness of their words that, from miles away, they would have flinched at you and fallen off their stools.
One Comment
I miss him, too.